


All Those Times we Looked up at the Sky

by revolutionaryfury



Series: Those Three [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, J/B/M week, M/M, Multi, Musichetta almost falls off of a roof, Musichetta is a pretty precocious kid, Starry nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionaryfury/pseuds/revolutionaryfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which they would all rather be sleeping except Joly, and an "I love you" is exchanged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Those Times we Looked up at the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> It's short; it's crappy. Deal with it.

_"'I don't want to lose you, I love you, and…and that's all I've got.' As speeches went, it wasn't great. As feelings went…different story.”_

_-Kristian Higgins_

 

Joly’s favorite time of the day was in the wee hours of the morning. “You can be anyone you want at three in the morning,” he explained to his tired boyfriend and girlfriend as they sat in his attic room at, in fact, three in the morning. It was the day before Musichetta started high school, Bossuet started his junior year, and Joly started his sophomore year.

Instead of sleeping, like they all should have been, they had chosen to sneak out of their respective houses and into Joly’s room – the attic – at his instruction. They were sitting on his box spring mattress (it didn’t have a bed frame) with Joly in the middle, Musichetta dozing off and on on his left shoulder, and Bossuet’s head resting on his own on the right side. Musichetta and Bossuet were holding hands across his lap.

“Wake up,” Joly urged in a whisper. “C’mon ‘Chetta.”

Musichetta looked up drowsily, smiling at her and Bossuet’s entwined hands. “…’M sorry,” she mumbled back sleepily. “Joly, I need t’go home. Marie’ll worry.” Her eyes drooped back closed.

Joly turned away from Bossuet and shook his girlfriend hard, immediately waking her up. “Nuh!” she cried accusingly.

Bossuet had an equally rude awakening. The dark-skinned boy fell from Joly and hit his head on the floor. “God,” he groaned.

“Shh!” Joly hissed. “You’ll wake up my mom and dad, and they’ll kill me!”

“If you told them about us, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Musichetta growled. She stretched her arms and wrapped them both around Joly, pushing him down on the bed and cuddling into his side. “Can I just have an hour of sleep and then I’ll go home?” she asked, sadly fully awake now. Joly ran a hand through her curly black hair, and she all but purred.

Bossuet rolled back on the bed, flopping on top of Joly and Musichetta like a human blanket. He was always scarily warm, which agitated Joly to no end.

“Bossuet,” he started.

“No,” Bossuet mumbled sleepily. “I don’t have a fever, Jol.”

“Get up,” Joly said suddenly, pushing his boyfriend off. He shoved his girlfriend away as well, opening the round window and grinning, “Follow me.” He shimmied out of the window and disappeared in a minute’s time.

“Where did he just go?” Musichetta asked. Bossuet, fully awake, shook his head. Musichetta walked over to the window and stuck her top half out. There was a large trellis that climbed most of Joly’s house right next to it, so she latched her hands on to it and began climbing until her lower half was also out of the circular window. It’s three in the morning and I’m climbing a trellis, she thought wearily. What’s new? Her Chucks scrabbled against the white trellis, not quite finding a hold. Musichetta quickly realized several things: she was still about three feet from the roof, she needed her feet for those extra feet, and she should have climbed barefoot. “Joly!” she hissed. “Help me!” She began to panic, clinching the trellis so hard her knuckles turned white and shook. Her feet dangled uselessly in the night air and she began kicking.

“What’s the trouble?” Bossuet asked, leaning out of the window, promptly to be kicked in the face. “My nose!” he whimpered, pretty sure that Musichetta had broken it. (It wouldn’t be the first time he’d broken it, but it still hurt like hell.)

“Sorry!” Musichetta grunted. Her fingers began slipping. “Joly! Help!” she shrieked. “I’m gonna fall!” Joly lived on the third floor of his house; that was a long drop. A drop that would most likely end in a two broken legs at the best.

Joly leaned down over the roof, his pale white hands twining firmly around his girlfriend’s cropper-colored wrists. “It’s okay, ‘Chetta,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.” He began to pull her up.

“What do I do?” ‘Chetta asked, still panicking. “Joly, you’re not strong enough! You’ll fall too!” She kicked wildly again.

“Calm down, calm down,” Joly said easily. “Panic won’t do you any good. Put your feet against the side of the house and walk up it like you’re rock climbing.”

Musichetta complied, quitting her kicking and placing her feet gingerly against the gray siding. She began to walk – sideways! – and Joly pulled her up with all of his strength. Finally, she got to the edge of the roof, heaving herself up, her chest surging up and down with relieved breaths. She gave a breathy, panicky laugh. “Oh my God,” she muttered.

“Lucien?” a voice called from outside Joly’s room. “I heard a scream, honey. Are you having a panic attack?”

“Shit!” Joly whispered vehemently. “It’s my mom! Quick,” he directed Musichetta. “Hold my feet.”

She grabbed his ankles and he leaned down, bracing himself against the window. “I’m fine, Mom!” he shouted through the window. “Thank you!”

“Honey, are you sure? You don’t need to be ashamed. You can trust me, you know.”

“I know,” Joly growled. “Thank you, Mom.” He looked back to Musichetta. “She’s gonna make me open the door in a second,” he whispered to ‘Chetta. “Stay on the roof. I’ll be right back.” With the grace of a gymnast, he yanked his ankles out of Musichetta’s grip and vaulted in the window, landing heavily on the floor.

So much for grace, ‘Chetta thought, shaking her head.

“HIDE!” Joly mouthed to Bossuet.

Bossuet looked towards the bed as if to hide under the frame, realized it didn’t have one, and then dashed to the closet, slipping in. Joly groaned from the floor, unlocking his door and pasting on a weary smile. “See, Mom? I’m fine. Just pre-school jitters. You can go to bed, really. I love you.”

Musichetta heard Joly say this from the roof, and was overcome with a wave of affection for her boyfriend. He was such a sweetie to his mother. Then again, she reasoned, living with Joly couldn’t always be easy. Constant panic attacks and hypochondria must have gotten tiring. She heard Joly and Mrs. Joly exchange a few more words – God, it sounded so weird to hear someone calling him Lucien – and then she heard a door click.

“Where’s Bossuet?” she whispered.

“Closet!” she heard a muffled voice say.

Musichetta giggled. Eventually, Joly got Bossuet on the roof – after he almost fell half a dozen times – and then Joly himself was on the roof. The three lay down and looked up at the stars, talking of everything and nothing. Bossuet pointed out constellations, naming them inappropriate things to amuse ‘Chetta’s fourteen-year-old sense of humor.

“Three in the morning is a pretty magical time,” Bossuet conceded. “Even if I’d rather sleep.”

“Shut up,” Joly shot back with a grin. “You know you love it.”

“I know I love you,” Bossuet teased.

Everyone froze. It was the first time Bossuet had ever spoken the words, even though he and Joly had been dating he was in seventh grade and Joly was in sixth. “Whoa,” Musichetta whispered.

“I…I love you, too,” Joly stammered. He paused. “Yes. I love you.”

Bossuet smiled warmly, crushing Joly to his chest in a rib-cracking hug.

Musichetta thought about feeling jealous, but then decided it was a useless emotion. This is a magical moment for them, she thought. They’ll say they love when they’re ready. And you know what? I can wait.


End file.
